


Slow Burn

by spiritualmachines



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Extramarital Affairs, Incest, M/M, Male Slash, One Shot, POV First Person, Showers, Sibling Incest, Slash, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14995739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritualmachines/pseuds/spiritualmachines
Summary: Excerpt:In lieu of exchanging gifts, Taylor had devised an alternate course of action.Prompt:This e-card.





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> *This story is from Zac's POV.

Some people wrote off Valentine’s Day as a wildly overrated Hallmark holiday, suited for people who lacked creativity and substance and consequently bought into all the hype, all of the pink-and-red candy heart bullshit. Others genuinely believed in the legend, were delighted by the age-old symbols of doves and winged Cupid figurines, and therefore approached February 14 with equal parts excitement and reverence. 

How did my lover and I feel about the holiday? The jury was still out on that one. But there was one thing that we could both agree on:

We didn't need any more _stuff_. 

Over the years, my brother and I had accumulated entire houses full of things we didn't truly need. Although we both sifted through our belongings on an annual basis and donate discarded items to charity, our efforts never really made a dent. We were both pack-rats; it was just another thing we had in common.

Aside from cheating on our wives with each other that is. 

It was immoral. It was against everything we had been taught to believe and had grown up believing in. It was, by most people’s standards, unfathomably disgusting. It was, for lack of a better term, _wrong_. And yet, neither one of us could stop. Not when he made me feel as good as he did. 

Of course, the nature of our relationship meant we were unable to spend holidays the way we wanted—together. Life was all about impulse and improvisation, though, and after seven years of sneaking around, we had become masters at our own thrilling yet deceitful trade. 

My general belief was that all holidays were more about the sentiment than the date on the calendar. Did acts of love truly mean more on February 14th as opposed to any other day? I didn’t think so. Spending time alone with him was all that mattered. Those moments were precious and extremely hard to come by, after all. 

And that’s how I found myself checking into a seedy-looking motel just outside of Oklahoma City, a week _before_ Valentine’s Day, with a suitcase and a sealed box under my arm. We could have splurged on something a little more upscale but when you’re trying to keep a rather dangerous secret, you can’t afford to show your face where people recognize you and greet you by name. No, instead you go where the clerk barely glances up from his comic book to check you in.

The plan was to stagger our arrivals as an added precaution to prevent suspicion, so naturally, I elected to get there first. Taylor may have been a perfectionist, but he was far from punctal. He probably wouldn’t even show up to his own funeral on time. (But I can’t bear to think about a life without him, so let’s just carry on, shall we?)

Arriving well before him meant I had time to get the room ready for our evening together. The box was something special for later so I carefully set it aside, running my hand over the wood. It was something new and exciting for us and I couldn’t wait to open it and see what kind of fun the night would bring. 

My first task was to change the sheets on the bed. I didn’t stop to even look at what was on the mattress as I ripped it off and kicked the recycled bedding into the far corner of the room. Then I carefully arranged the sheets I knew he loved on the bed and smoothed them out. Taylor wasn’t fussy about too terribly much, but he did love a nice set of sheets, and who was I to deny him the feeling of his naked body against them?

Speaking of naked bodies, it was time for me to shower. I typically showered at night, and had done so the night before, but in a house with three kids who were at least as messy as I was, if not more, it was impossible to stay clean for long.

Plus, when we were tangled together between the sheets, Taylor loved to press his nose against my neck and inhale deeply. It was when he started this intimate and somehow innocent display of affection that I had begun to shower more often. Kate justified my sudden interest in personal hygiene by believing that I was finally growing up and acting like a responsible adult. Her reasoning was far from the truth, but I certainly wasn't going to correct her. 

The truth was I had started lying to my wife with increasing ease. As far as she knew, Taylor and I were on a last-minute business trip for the weekend. It was a shame that Isaac had a family obligation on Nikki’s side that took him to Florida. Taylor and I would have to handle it alone. 

Naked. 

As the hot spray of water washed over me, I closed my eyes and pictured him, and in no time at all, I was humming merrily to myself while working the soap into a lather. It was amazing how even just the simple thought of him could bring a smile to my face and make my worries melt away. 

For years, I had been writing and singing songs about love without truly ever knowing what it felt like. Before him, I’d thought I had an idea, but I had been wrong. I loved my wife—of course I did, I wouldn't have married her otherwise—but what I felt for Kate didn't make me go weak in the knees or trigger a simultaneously thrilling and agonizing ache deep inside. Taylor took my breath away and every time he touched me, I felt exhilaratingly torn—like I was on the verge of dying but had never been so alive. Heat funneled through me, popping in my veins and making every sense more acute. My heart even began to beat in a different cadence. It was as if it knew the man I was meant to be with was right there, and it felt the need to sing his praises. 

“Zac?” 

His voice should have been slightly muted, drowned out by the sound of the shower, but instead it echoed melodically off the walls.

“Tay,” I called back, slightly startled. “You’re early.”

Truth be told, he was right on time, but for him that _was_ early. My heart rate picked up and I pulled back the curtain, shampoo still in my hair, just in time to see him lifting his shirt off over his head and revealing his enticing torso. 

“Hey, can't blame a guy for breaking a few speed limit laws when _this_ awaited me at the end of the journey,” he replied as he unzipped his jeans and pushed them down his slender hips. 

All rational thought escaped my brain, my eyes trained on every inch of skin he was exposing as he undressed. Should I have been quickly rinsing the shampoo out of my hair so that I was ready for him? Probably. Was I able to? Nope. Not even a little bit.

I was hopelessly distracted by the fact that he wasn’t wearing underwear. _Oh, sweet Jesus_. 

When he looked up, finally finished with the rather arduous task of peeling the skintight jeans from his ankles, he gave me a smile that made my knees weak. How was he mine? After all these years, _I_ was still the one he wanted. He’d broken vows and rules and yes, even speed laws to get to me. 

Me.

For the longest time, I'd believed I was nothing special, hardly worthy of the thunderous applause that echoed off the walls of concert halls when we finished a performance. _It’s Taylor they're clapping for, Taylor they crave, Taylor they need_ , I told myself. _Hell, I could disappear into thin air at this very instant, and no one would even miss me_.

Such self-deprecating thoughts should have probably made me resent my older brother, but instead they made me love him all the more. And how ironic was it that it was Taylor himself who showed me just how wrong I was—who made me not only see, but firmly believe in the importance of my own existence? 

When I was with him, I was convinced that I was actually worth something. 

“Let me give you a hand,” he murmured, invading the small shower cubicle without an invitation (he knew he didn't need one; he never did).

In a modest hotel such as this one, the shower left a lot to be desired, but the water was hot and that was all I had really needed. Now, I suddenly wished that we were in a luxury suite with an expansive shower that gave me enough room to see him as the water cascaded down his body. 

Instead, I was treated to the feeling of him brushing up against me as he roughly threaded his fingers through my hair and tilted my head back under the water to help me rinse.

I backed up against the wall and moaned despite myself, loving the way he handled me. 

“Did you open the box without me?” he asked, his nails scraping against my scalp as he continued his purposeful ministrations. 

“No,” I gasped out, holding on to his hips to steady myself, delighted by the commanding tone his voice had taken. 

“Good boy,” came his gruff reply.

My heart began to pound even more wildly at the epithet, and I went all but limp in his arms. He’d barely been in the shower with me for a minute and already I wished he would never have to leave—already I felt so loved and cherished I had nearly forgotten how to breathe.

In lieu of exchanging gifts, Taylor had devised an alternate course of action, hence the box that I had dutifully transported to our temporary whereabouts—a box that held something far more valuable than needlessly expensive material goods. 

It contained our _fantasies_. 

As far as Taylor knew, I had followed his orders, and once he had finished his thorough rinsing, he pulled me in for a sweet yet unquestionably masterful kiss.

When he pulled away, I actually gasped at the loss of contact, opening my eyes to stare at him. I wasn’t surprised to find him in a grin, nor was I surprised when he took the soap and gave his own body a quick once-over before doing the same to mine. 

“Did you bring towels?” he asked, his hand running the length of my spine and coming to rest on my ass.

When his index finger trailed lower still, I was powerless to do anything but nod in response. I’d packed them along with the sheets, knowing that was yet another thing my brother was particular about. 

Showing my weakness, I leaned forward to rest my body against his and breathed against his neck the way he loved to do to me. His finger had once again stilled, and I knew that meant he wasn’t ready to give me what I wanted yet. The reverberation of his heartbeat against my chest told me that he was too excited about the prospect of our fantasy box to satisfy our urges in the moment. 

“I’ll go get the towels. They're still in my bag,” I said softly, obediently, even though it hadn’t yet been outright asked of me. Then, before drawing away, I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before whispering, “Happy early Valentine’s Day, big brother.”

“Same to you, little brother.” His blue eyes locked on mine, both blazing and breathtaking in their intensity. “Don't worry, though; this party’s just getting started.”

*** * * * ***

If it wasn’t for the wooden box sitting between us, it would have been difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sight of Taylor with a towel loosely draped around his waist. When he’d crawled onto the bed, he had made not a single attempt to preserve his decency and Zac knew that if he leaned just a little bit to the left he would see everything he wanted to touch, taste, devour.

“I’ve been thinking about this ever since we put the lock on the box,” Taylor said, his voice an excited whisper. 

He looked exactly like he did every Christmas morning as he examined packages that might have been slipped under the tree for him. Taylor had never really believed in Santa—he’d been too smart for the ruse even when he was young enough to accept such things as the truth until proven otherwise—but he loved giving and receiving gifts in the spirit of the holiday. And I knew that this was a gift to him. 

This was _my_ gift to him. 

“How many did you put in there?” I asked, curious as to how many fantasies he had that he’d yet to reveal to me.

“One,” he replied, his eyes twinkling knowingly. 

I swallowed thickly, my heart rate kicking into triple-time as he fingered the lock. I had the key, and I held it tightly within my palm. He was going to discover soon enough just how much of myself I had given to him, how much his love and pleasure meant to me.

“We’ve waited long enough, then,” I said, sliding the key into the lock and turning it until I heard a satisfying click.

As the sound rang through the silence, Taylor’s hand ghosted over mine, making me shiver with desire despite the fact that I felt hot all over. 

His gaze was fixed on the box, allowing me the luxury of watching him without his knowledge. When Taylor was really focused on something, the rest of the world melted away. And right now, the thing he was faithfully focused on was a gateway to his deepest fantasy being fulfilled.

And he was trusting me to make sure it came true.

“No peeking,” he murmured, his eyes still trained on the box, his voice soft but not without a hint of authority.

“No peeking,” I repeated.

Nodding in approval, Taylor cracked open the box just enough for me to slip my hand through the opening without being able to see what I was reaching for. My fingers were shaking as I grabbed for the scrap of paper, flattening it between them as I slowly pulled it out. 

“I want you to read it for me,” he said.

His voice was husky, charged with desire and excitement, and I nearly came undone right then and there. I was normally in charge of my body’s reactions, but Taylor was the most glorious exception to that rule. He had the power to send my pulse into overdrive and reduce my limbs to jelly with just a single word or look. He turned my selfish tendencies inside out, exposing the soft underbelly of submission. He encouraged me to expand my horizons and test my limits. He made me want to learn everything there was to know about love, and then some. 

As I peered down at the scrap of paper, I allowed myself to be lost in the sweeping curves of his handwriting. Was it possible to be attracted to handwriting? Before him I would have said no, but I even loved the way he put pen to paper. I loved everything about him, and I wasn't sorry for it. 

“Zac, I want to drip hot candle wax on your skin and turn you into a work of art. I want to leave my mark on your body the way I have your heart,” I read, my voice strangely calm and steady while the rest of me trembled.

Once I was finished reading the fantasy— _Taylor’s_ fantasy—I had selected from the box, my brother placed his hand on my towel-clad thigh and gave me a kiss. When he drew away, there was a delighted smile on his cherry-red lips and his eyes were blazing with a thrilling heat that I swore to God I could feel. 

“I've been waiting a long, long time for this,” he murmured against my lips. 

Then, with a grace I dearly admired but never dared hope to possess, he slid off of the bed and sauntered across the room toward his suitcase. His towel fell away in the process, revealing every inch of his perfect form, and a fresh wave of longing crashed over me. 

“What are you doing?”

As the question bounced off of the room’s aged walls, I realized just how closely it echoed the faraway yet familiar spirit of my youth. Even as a young boy, I'd been desperate for Taylor’s affection and had followed him everywhere, inserting myself into his business at all times simply because I couldn't stand to be away from him. 

_Whatcha doin’?_ I would ask, crouching down beside him in the dirt in the backyard, watching the lift and crease of his eyebrows as he worked the trowel through the forgiving layers of earth. 

_Looking for hidden treasure_ , he would reply, lifting his bright, sun-filled eyes to mine. 

“You'll see,” he said knowingly.

As he knelt down and began to rummage through his bag, I scooted all the way to the edge of the bed, almost unable to contain myself. I wasn't a little boy anymore, of course, but my bond to Taylor had only strengthened over time. Now, it was a legendary thing, as solid and untouchable as once-wet handprints in cement. 

I couldn't wait to see what sort of hidden treasures we would unearth together this time around.

*** * * * ***

The rise and fall of my chest remained fairly docile in spite of the furious beating of my heart against my ribcage. I wasn’t scared—quite the opposite, actually. I knew that Taylor was going to take care of me and his intention was not to hurt me but to discover new ways for both of us to experience pleasure. I trusted him.

It was the soft caress of the restraints binding my wrists above my head that left my pulse racing. This was hardly the first time I had been restrained in such a way, but every time Taylor saw it fit to leave me immobile I felt a charge race through my bloodstream. Maybe I should have been afraid of the loss of control, but I couldn’t be. Not when I knew what it meant. 

When Taylor held me down, tied me up, or bound me in any way it meant that he wanted to take his time with me. He knew very well that if I was allowed the use of my hands, I would be more focused on giving him pleasure than taking my own and so when he wanted me to really pay attention he took measures to make sure I had to simply watch instead of participate.

And right now, I was watching him light the candle he’d retrieved from the side pocket of his bag.

His toes dug into the carpet, left leg gently swinging back and forth in a small circular motion as he watched the flame reach its full height, immediately beginning to melt the wax. My eyes flickered from the candle to the way his movements caused the taut muscles under his skin to gently ripple. Taylor wasn't muscular in the traditional sense but rather with an understated beauty. His body revealed that he took care of himself, but had vices and pleasures he refused to give up or apologize for. The combination was beautiful and enticing, but being bound meant I could only drink him in with my eyes. 

“Tay…” I whispered, wanting him to look at me instead of the candle. His attention had been diverted for far too long. 

“Hmm?” 

Taylor sounded both distracted and undeniably focused, a feat of which I was convinced that he and he alone was capable.

“Can I have a kiss?” I asked very softly, knowing there was a strain of desperation in my voice, but I wanted his mouth on mine. “Please?”

To my surprise, he granted my request, allowing me both a generous view of his exquisite naked form and the sweetest featherlight kiss on the lips.

“That’s for being a good boy and asking nicely,” he spoke against my mouth, his fingertips trailing lightly down my torso and stopping just short of the part of me that ached for him the most. “But that's all you get for now. Since my fantasy was the one you pulled out of the box, I’m the one in control here.”

_It was the **only** one in the box._

The confession was on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to hold it in. His eyes were alight with such absolute and unbridled anticipation that I didn’t want to ruin by spilling that little tidbit. 

He would find out soon enough. I never could keep secrets from him for very long. 

“I'm yours,” I whispered back. “All yours.”

Satisfied by my assertion, he returned his attention to the rapidly melting candle wax, his index finger circumventing the flame in order to dip into the hot liquid. Showing no signs of pain or even the shock of discomfort, he lifted the candle from the end table and moved back to my side, the flame dancing in his blue eyes. 

Once again, I watched him dip his finger into the growing pool of wax as he held the candle close to my body. This time, instead of letting it dry, he quickly swiped his fingertip across my nipple, his nail lightly scratching my skin as the wax hit it. 

“Holy shit,” I hissed as the cocktail of sensations tunneled through me. 

I could feel the wax hardening, a slow burn that spread before dissipating. Then Taylor ducked his head and followed the trail of wax with his tongue, making a sweeping circle around my nipple—not quite touching the wax, but coming dangerously close to doing so. Each sensation was distinctly thrilling, yet it was impossible to separate the feeling of Taylor touching me from the candle’s syrupy residue. At least that was until he slowly tipped the candle and dripped wax directly onto my chest. 

Another hiss escaped as I arched my back, letting out a moan when I felt his breath follow, cooling the wax on contact. I longed for something to hold onto but was helpless to grasp anything other than frantic fistfuls of air.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice even huskier than it had been before. 

Words were trying to form in my brain, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out were whimpers and unintelligible bits of sounds. A Cheshire-cat smile spread across my brother’s face, and before I could even think to recover, he tipped the candle again. This time, the liquid streamed down my chest to my navel, where the heat pooled in a shallow concavity. 

“So good,” I finally managed to croak out as Taylor’s lips brushed my jaw.

It was the truth. Each time the wax touched me, my cock grew even harder, the urge for release continuing to mount.

“I had a feeling you'd like it,” he murmured, his tongue once again following the path of the wax, although this time he took a moment to slide my aching cock between his lips and give it some attention. 

Not _enough_ attention—no, not nearly enough—but he was pouring wax on me again before I could complain. 

As he moved, his weight shifted the mattress beneath us, causing the candle to tip and spill a generous portion of wax on both my bare skin and the bedsheets. 

“Oh, fuck!” I cried out, squirming as I felt it seeping down beneath my ass and hardening along the way. 

“Sorry,” Taylor said.

But he didn't sound the slightest bit apologetic, nor did he look it as he used the heel of his hand to roll me over to study the path the wax had taken. 

I could tell that he was just as turned on as I was, his cock standing impossibly erect in the dim light of the room. When he shifted and moved in even closer, I could feel it against my hip, causing another low moan to escape from somewhere deep inside. 

My eyes fluttered closed as he made criss-cross motions with the candle, lacing my body with wax and driving me to the very brink of insanity. He was going to have to untie me, touch me, do _something_ soon, or I was going to lose my mind. I was sure of it. 

What had started out as a slow burn had transformed into a desperate heat that consumed my entire body. No longer could I see anything but the glorious pleasure that bloomed beneath my closed eyelids. By the time I felt him loosening the binds that held my wrists in place, I was positively shaking with need.

Before I lost myself completely, I opened my eyes and saw the candle topple off of the bed and collide with the floor with a jarring 'thunk.' For a split second, I was worried that it would start a fire, but then Taylor was inside of me, completing me in every sense, and I no longer cared. 

_Let it burn_ , I thought as he began to thrust into me.

I had all I needed and then some within arm’s reach.


End file.
